


Ursa Major

by honeybun



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: COSY AS SHIT, Comfort, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Logger AU, M/M, alternative universe, graves u a daddy now, living in a cabin in a forest good shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybun/pseuds/honeybun
Summary: "The Great Bear," Graves points, his calloused fingers outlining the marks of light in the sky, "Ursa Major..."Credence hums from his place, pillowed on Graves' arm, blinking up slowly at the firmament."And there's you," Graves grins, voice teasing, "Ursa Minor, the baby bear."Credence humphs but smiles anyway, burrowing his face a little into Graves' chest."Now now, this is important, Credence, listen-" Credence grudgingly peeks up at the sky, Graves points again, "Look here, the little bear follows the bigger one, right? It's predestined, must be, the stars have told me to take care of you always."Credence makes a vaguely unconvinced noise, despite being terribly charmed, terribly in love."You'll always find your place in the world now, hmm? Right next to me."





	Ursa Major

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KonaKona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KonaKona/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Ursa Major](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288423) by [StrangeBirdsOfIrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeBirdsOfIrene/pseuds/StrangeBirdsOfIrene)



> It's been a while! Bless you Sabo for being an angel always and motivating me to write bear stories.  
> p.s. Thanks for your late night help figuring out astronomy lol xoxox
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ weepingstar and please let me know your thoughts <3 
> 
>  
> 
> it's short but sweet xox

The wood that burdened Graves’ arms was a comfort. He knew he had felled the tree himself, had rendered the branches apart with his axe and now travelled home to put them away to thoroughly dry. He knew that he had done the same with logs from months ago which were now ready to be put on the fire. He knew how Credence’s toes would scrunch up from the cold when the fire was burning low, and then curl delightedly when he bent down to arrange more wood in the burner. The burden of Credence was more than a comfort, it was a blessing, a necessity, something which Graves both craved and needed.

His favourite sight is Credence lounging very happily, reading, napping, smiling. Not having to work, or toil away, just innocently indulging in things that make him happy. Graves thinks he needs to see that too - a man who sustains himself knows what he needs after all. He needs to eat, so he hunts, he needs to keep warm, so he chops wood. He needs to make Credence safe, happy - so he does so.

Credence’s needs are somewhat different to his. Graves is very happy to shower in the relative freezing cold. Happy to cook a rabbit and eat it for sustenance. Happy to sleep when it becomes stupid not to. But with Credence it’s different. It’s warm baths made from the water of twenty or so boiled kettles, it’s seasoned food so Graves has to find some herbs at the market to grow and use, it’s making sure Credence sleeps at a regular time and to be close for comfort in order to keep him healthy, happy, safe.

Graves isn’t sure how living his nomadic life he’s managed to foster such a dependence in Credence without a care. Even the thought of ‘decorating’ his cabin (read - having one single cushion on the couch) had irked Graves at the start, not one to make somewhere a home, just one to _be_ at home. So how is it that Credence’s little collection of tin boxes, his small sprigs of wild flowers in glass bottles, his lamb wool slippers under the table, don’t make Graves feel the same? Why is it that the sense of home and comfort, the particular feeling in which he recognises as something animal and instinctual and right has only just occurred to him as something… _good?_

All revelations like this take their time to present themselves, but when they do finally arrive it’s usually a normal day and time. For Graves it is one evening in late October when his gentle musing on the topic of _home_ and _Credence_ in close succession take on a rather more urgent feeling. He’s walking home from the market, one pocket full of coins from the day’s takings, the other a pot of Credence’s favourite Blackberry jam, slung over his shoulder is a pheasant that he has kept for dinner.

The crisp leaves underfoot crunch beneath his heavy boots, and the sound starts to grate on him. He’d been dreaming a little over how he would return to Credence who was always safely tucked away back in their home on market day, logs brought in to place on the fire if needed.

One particular customer had made a jibe at Graves today, asked what the pretty creature’s name was, for it must be someone special to keep Graves from moving further East over Autumn as he usually would. Graves had frowned and grumbled that he hadn’t any idea what they were talking about, had been gruff for the rest of the day because it had been _true_. His usual move East to stalk deer, to forage in the wilderness for mushrooms and nuts and berries had been cancelled. Not _because_ of Credence specifically, but _for_ Credence, _maybe_. Graves just couldn’t imagine making Credence walk so far, in his soft and comfortable clothing which Graves had collected the wool for himself, he couldn’t think of having Credence sleep in burrows like he would, not eating for days or washing… He didn’t want to make Credence do that.

He had still bought the jam though, still planned to present Credence with his reward for… well… Graves would hesitate to say it was his reward for _good behaviour_ but he struggled a little to think of what else he might call it. A reward for his… his? Graves gave up.

He was still trampling the leaves on his way home, frowning at the thought of being caught up in such domestic bliss. He had been a nomad all his life, ever since he was a small boy! And suddenly here he is, stoking the fire for a fae youth, _wasting_ so much wood he would have previously thought himself mad! He’d never had an Autumn where he’d burnt so much fuel! And the money which he usually saved to spend on scrap parts, well? Where was it? In a cupboard which held ginger biscuits and jam and sweet pickled plums!

Graves had got himself into quite the bad mood, his boots now firmly thumping onto the floor of the path and his breath coming out in clouds of mist into the cold air. When he sees the cabin though, lit up, warm and light and calling to him, his footsteps gentle, he bites the inside of his cheek and his hand pats his pocket to reassure himself the pot of jam is still there (although there’s no thought spared to check that there’s a jingle of coins in the other).

Graves climbs the stairs and he tries to contemplate what he might be doing if not for Credence turning up. He would have stalked deer, perhaps had a little more money, or maybe more wood. But when he opens the door to Credence, those things drift from his mind. The customer who had jabbed at Graves for his new sweetheart now only a nosy old man who was of no consequence, the deer over in the East could count themselves lucky for another year, and Graves would go out and chop as much wood as it took to see Credence like this. Credence’s hands crowd against his face as he breathes quietly, sleeping. His knees tucked up into his chest, Graves’ old flannel shirt used as both a blanket and a pillow.

Graves remembers how he was some time ago, and how he wouldn’t want that back for a moment, that poor bastard envied him, the old Graves that is, with his sweet Credence keeping the home fire burning. And he pitied him, the fool.

Graves kneels down to the couch that Credence occupies, sighing, his eyes no longer narrowed, his brow no longer wrinkled, his face open and happy. Graves uses a calloused thumb to brush aside some stray black curls from Credence’s face, unintentionally waking him up.

His eyelashes flutter and Credence sleepily smiles, his face not conveying shock or fear which would have been the norm only a few short months ago, but trust.

“You’re home?” Credence whispers, Graves isn’t sure why it’s a question from Credence, when if anything Graves should be the one surprised Credence is still here.

“That’s right..” Graves murmurs, not pulling away his hand, stroking Credence’s temple, feeling Credence push against him ever so slightly.

“What did you bring me this time?” Credence asks, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Blackberry,” Graves answers, letting a curl twist around his finger and pulling, ever so slightly, just to see Credence’s eyes close again in bliss.

“My favourite,” Credence says, hands greedily clutching at Graves’ old flannel covering him, very much aware of what such a sight must do to Graves.

“I know,” Graves adds distractedly, pulling his hand away reluctantly only to retrieve the pot of jam. He wipes his broad thumb around the edge of the jar to pick up a little of the sticky purple treat, and then ever so slowly goes to push it against Credence’s lips. Credence’s eyes widen and dance with secrets and delight, he licks Graves’ thumb clean.


End file.
